Walking keeps me from falling into the Endless Pit of Stress, but I realized today that I'd been taking the same route the past few times out, so arbitrarily I decided to pick another street this time. Odd how even such small changes can feel uncomfortable for a few minutes.
On the Eleanor Street sidewalk (south side, between Fairview and Howell), I found poetry stamped into the concrete, some of the letters still full of water from the morning's rain. Lost count of how many poems; there are several, varying in length and style, all delightful.
Oh, and there's a huge, storm-broken willow on Highland, coming back to life all the same; and on Eleanor in one yard is a tree I can't identify that is bent into the the precise shape of a question mark.
Next time out, the Nikon goes with me.